Rage
by ofcatsandwomen
Summary: Daredevil story set between issues 106 and 107. Told from Foggy's perspective and in the first person as he goes to try to talk some sense into Matt. Read and review!


**Rage**

I don't know why I bother, I know he's not going to want to talk to me. Maybe it's because I'm hoping that if I'm persistent enough, it will be like a drop of water against a rock. Enough drops and enough time, and eventually you might begin to notice. So here I am, outside his apartment with some take-out Chinese waiting to ring the door bell. He probably knows I'm here already, and if the place isn't completely air-tight, I'm sure he can smell the food too. He chooses not to notice, so I finally ring the bell. After about fifteen seconds, I hear slow reluctant foot steps on the other side.

"Hey." His smile, barely noticeable, is gone before I even get the chance to figure out whether it was real or a figment of my imagination. "What are you doing here?"

"Matt, what kind of a question is that?" It hurts to be shut out, and Matt is a master at going it alone. What hurts even more is that his question really seems to imply that he thinks he is not worthy of my company. I've seen him go through rough times before, but now I'm starting to wonder if maybe he's beginning to hate himself.

"You _don't_ want to be around me, Foggy. _I_ don't want to be around me, but it's not like I've got any real choice here." I take a look at him. He's wearing boxers and a t-shirt. What does he do all day? I know what he does at night, and it scares the hell out of me. "You here to feed me?"

"Yeah. I figured you've got to eat, and maybe we could at least sit together in silence and have some Chinese." I watch him sniff the air, almost imperceptibly, probably trying to figure what's on the menu." Are you going to let me in?" He swings the door open and moves out of the way to let me pass, but says nothing.

"Well, go ahead, you know the place." I repress the urge to just drop the bag of food on the floor and just shake some sense into him. I want to yell at him, beg him to wake up, but I don't. I wonder what he'd say. I've taken a lot of crap from him over the years, we both know it, but I'm just not the yelling type.

"It's really dark in here, you should at least turn the lights on." I know he has no use for lighting, but he always used to have the place partly lit to make it look less than completely abandoned.

"Well, I'm saving a ton of money on the electricity." I don't know if that's supposed to be funny. He doesn't smile. I turn the kitchen lights on and drop my things on the island in the middle. I suppose we could eat out of the cartons but I'm guessing that he eats a lot of take-out these days. It's nicer on a plate, so I grab a couple from one of the cupboards.

"Matt, I've got to ask… What to you do all day? Do you ever go out?" He obviously didn't go anywhere today, he's not dressed to do anything. He's starting to look a little thin too, but I know he must be eating. Where else would he get the energy to beat people up night after night?

"No, I stay here mostly. Watch TV. Did you know they have news twenty-four hours a day?" There's something not quite right about him, and it scares me.

"Yes, of course I know that. So do you. What are you watching?"

"This is _not_ a nice world. I know, I didn't just figure that out, but it's the same everywhere really. War, torture, people getting killed for no good reason." This was just great. Soon he'll probably start to feel guilty for not stopping famine in Africa too.

"There are good things happening too. Don't they tell you that on CNN as well, or do you filter that stuff out?" I pour the food onto the plates I set on the counter and look around for some silverware. I can do without the chopsticks.

"I don't know what to do, Foggy." He runs his finger along the edge of his plate, as if he's thinking about whether to eat from it or not. But what he just said gives me hope, this is the closest thing he's come to giving me any indication that he's ready to talk.

"Matt, you can talk to me. Please." I'm almost afraid to move, worried that the moment will pass, and he'll shut down again.

"It's like this constant pain. There's something dead inside of me, but it still hurts. How can that _be_?" He pushes himself up to sit on the counter and just drops his head down. "Then I go out, and all I feel is rage. And I beat on someone, and it feels like something that _isn't_ pain, and that's as good as it's going to get. Afterwards I just feel disgusted, dirty. But I just can't stop."

"No, you _can_ stop. This isn't who you are. This isn't what Milla would want." I wonder if it's a mistake to mention her name, I notice him freeze and look up. Am I even right to speak about here as if she were dead?

"See that note on the fridge?" I look over and notice a lone piece of paper stuck between a strawberry-shaped magnet and the surface underneath. At first it looks like a blank note, but then I notice it's got something written on it in Braille.

"Yeah, I do." I walk the few steps over there and carefully take it down. He holds his hand out and I give it to him. He brushes his fingers across the surface a few times, but he doesn't appear to be reading it. It's as if he's just handling something valuable.

"This is from back when Milla _wanted_ something, from when she had a mind that could actually wish for things. I watched it die right here, right in front of me, and I did _nothing_ to stop it."

"Matt, you did everything you could, you _know_ that. It wasn't your fault." His hands begin to tremble and he swallows hard.

"She wrote this just a few months back, just one of those casual things in case I'd get home before she did."

"What does it say?" His hand is shaking so badly I doubt he can even read it, but he probably has it memorized.

"It says, 'I'm out with Lori, I'll be back around eleven. I love you, and you'll always be my hero.'" His voice is a barely audible whisper as he reaches the end of it. His lip is starting to quiver, and I'm wondering if he might actually cry. He's not really the type, but it would be a sign of progress.

"Matt, I'm so sorry." What else can I say? What words can possibly convey my own desperation at seeing him like this.

"She wanted me to be her hero, and I wasn't." His eyes begin to well up, but it stops there. "I'm quicksand, Foggy. I pull people down with me."

"You're not quicksand. Do you have any idea how many people you've saved? How many people are still around because you chose to do something that's very rare in this world. You chose to care. You don't deserve this. Milla doesn't deserve this. But, if you give up now, you let them win. All of them. All of the killers, drug dealers and rapists. Don't let this break you!" I'm not really sure if I'm getting through to him. "Damn it, Matt! I _miss_ you. Don't you get that?"

"I miss you too." He gets down off the counter, picks up his plate and walks into the living room. I guess I'm supposed to follow him, so I do.

"But I'm right _here_. Please, come back to work, Matt. We all miss you. When are you going to stop punishing yourself?"

"Maybe some day. Not yet." We sit down on the couch in the living room, and eat our dinner in silence. I've run out of things to say, and the way he is right now, he won't give me anything without being prompted. At least we talked. I got more out of him than I have in a long time, and I know he's wrong about one thing. He's not dead inside. His problem has always been that he feels things too strongly.

After about an hour of just sitting there, I decide to head out, and I tell him. I put my hand on his shoulder and notice him recoil in pain. Without even thinking, I pull his sleeve up and see that the top of his arm is covered with a dark blue bruise the size of my hand. "What did you _do_?"

"I got careless, wasn't paying attention." I didn't think I'd have to worry about him physically, but it's clear that his head is not all there. I don't want to see him get banged up on top of everything else.

"Promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Just stay in tonight. Don't go out. Can you promise me that?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Okay, I promise." I move toward the front door when I hear him speak behind me. "Foggy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." That hits me in just the right spot.

"Anytime, Matt." I see him smile again. It's brief, but I know for sure this time. It was real.


End file.
